The Bottle Painter
by Kaeru Shisho
Summary: Summary: Heero Yuy’s life as a winery artist takes an abrupt turn when he meets a lowly delivery boy. Happy Valentine's Day posting!
1. Chapter 1

**The Bottle Painter**

**A Dream Come True**

Summary: Heero Yuy's life as a winery artist takes an abrupt turn when he meets a lowly delivery boy.

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Gundam Wing or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story.

A/N: My deepest thanks go to the kindness of WaterLily for painstaking editing and Snowdragon for encouraging me.

Warnings: AU, male/male pairings, language

**

* * *

Chapter 1 **

This year's bottle painter was allowing visitors to watch him work over a three-hour period on one afternoon. I signed up first thing because his was the job I wanted to get. Each vineyard had only one, if they were in the exclusive boutique wine competition. I wanted to be that _one and only_ someday.

I had been an employee at Barton Vineyards since I was a teenager. Wayward boys were brought in to do chores. Some stayed, like me, if they worked hard enough and showed promise. In the summer months, the boys worked the fields under the tutelage of the permanent workers, men trained to know just which branch to clip. In fall, there was the harvest and all the employees pitched in to haul crates of messy fruit to the crushers, to scrape out the crushers, and haul, haul, haul. Winter was the contest, but that only required the participation of the head wine maker, the bottle painter and Mr. Barton. The rest of us cleaned, burning the trash, scrubbing the place inside and out. Spring was for holidays and extending the vineyards with fresh seedlings, and summer we started all over.

We didn't just work; they sent us to school. The bus arrived four days a week to take us to the schools in town. I always sat beside my best friend, even though he was the son of the vineyard owner.

Trowa Barton would inherit the vineyard and estate. His cousin, and next closest relative, was a young girl who would inherit "the summer house and beach property." This I knew, because he told me in that off-hand manner of his. None it mattered to us. As boys, we ran through the rows of grapes, vines whipping at our legs, swatting with imaginary swords and laughing. He was a dour boy most of the time, but with me he laughed.

Some boys stayed in the fields where their abilities and hearts led them. Others left for further education. I wanted to be a bottle painter. One of my teachers had recommended me for art school, and the Barton family paid for my training.

I was very fortunate. Fortunate to have been treated as well as the son of the owner, fortunate to have had my art studies paid for, and fortunate to have been an extremely good painter.

I concentrated on becoming the best painter I could be, worked hard, and did not socialize. There was no value in making connections, since I'd never again see any of my classmates. I accounted for every penny of Mr. Barton's gift, making certain that what I spent went toward my education exclusive of all else. He got his money's worth, and I was not a popular student, but I graduated as a very fine painter.

I returned from art school ready to paint bottles for contests, only to discover I'd be washing them instead. I would have to wait for an opening, a long wait, because the new bottle painter I was watching was no older than me.

And he was very, very good.

Chang Wufei-- all the way from the L5 province of China. Before my eyes, a gold and purple dragon took shape, glowing from the dark green glass. Behind him, a shelf lined with matching bottles, showing off his magnificent technique. Gilt claws. Iridescent eyes. Some purple like the one he was painting now and others in a rainbow of hues. I liked the purple-blues best against the green.

Bottle green.

Trowa had been my first lover and his eyes were the color of the bottles at the Barton winery. Maybe lover was too strong a term. We were just kids discovering sex and our changing bodies. Still, I'd loved him.

He was the hot summer sun, dusty sweaty sex, and cooling swims in the streams.

He told me I was his only friend and that he loved me. Someday we would run the vineyard and winery together. That sounded good to a fatherless boy like me. It might have even happened that way, had he not met the son of the largest wine distributor company. Even Dekim Barton, his father, the patriarch of the vineyard, approved of the match, and so I lost my best friend and first lover to a turquoise-eyed, blond boy named Quatre Winner.

I had to concede, he was a better match than me, and Trowa and I parted friends when he left to study business, and me to study art. I hadn't seen him since then.

My chest still ached with the remembrance.

"That red would look better with more yellow added to it." I said it before thinking; I couldn't help myself and now I couldn't take it back. I'd corrected THE bottle painter.

A pair of dark-as-obsidian eyes riveted on me. "What did you say?" the painter asked, though his expression added, "ignorant boy." He looked as if he'd smelled something rotting. He looked arrogant.

"You're missing coral. Look at your collection. There's carrot and ruby but no coral."

I must have had a convincing look or tone of voice, because I convinced the bottle painter to put down his brush and look. I could see the back of his head. His hair was long and black pulled back into a tight ponytail. I could see his tension rise as the silk tunic tightened across his shoulders. I finally started to worry about what might happen to me. He could have me thrown out, I supposed, but could he force Mr. Barton to cut me loose? I had insulted him. He could do anything.

There was nothing I could do but watch and wait for him to dash my hopes and dreams forever.

His head turned and he fixed me with those black eyes. He didn't look pleased at all.

"If you think you know so much. You do it!" And he stood, gesturing toward his stool at the table.

A thousand things ran through my mind to say, but nothing that would alter the situation. Words were not my strength. I would either show him I knew what I was talking about or that I was a total fool.

"Okay."

I wouldn't attempt to emulate his style. That would be impertinent. Instead, I used the chosen color and painted full-blown roses, billowing across the glass. I concentrated on keeping my hands from shaking more than anything and pictured what I would paint. I let the image flow from my mind through my arm to my hand.

It was my best effort. I was glad to see that I did my best painting under pressure, because if I ever did become a winery bottle painter (and I was bewildered enough at the moment to think I still might have a shot at it) I would have to endure each year's excessive pressure to complete the required hundreds of especially painted, limited edition bottles.

"This color fits in between the others," I told him, handing the bottle over. I had the presence of mind not to place it beside his masterpieces.

But he did. "You are correct." He surprised me again. "I'm allowed an assistant. You shall be my assistant; otherwise, I shan't complete the requisite order. Say something!"

_Thank you?_ "I'd be honored, Master Chang—"

"That's one of my dusty old ancestors. I'm Wufei."

"I'm Heero."

"Yuy, I know. Trowa told me about you."

_What?_

"A time-consuming story. Quatre Winner and I… knew each other… intimately. I was part of the nuptial trade package; at least, I believe so."

"That's… I'm sorry." We'd both been hurt by a young man I'd never met, and who probably was completely unaware of his role in our lives. I never wanted to meet Quatre Winner who took away my Trowa and cast off the striking Wufei.

"I'm not. It's a prized position, bottle painter, as you are aware of. I was lucky."

"I know _I _am; lucky, that is."

And then he kissed me and one thing led to another, and I had my second lover. For a few months I walked on air. I was an assistant bottle painter and I had an ardent lover. At the time I felt I could have lived my life that way forever.

Wufei was well educated, cultured, and brilliantly intelligent. He smelled of paint and thinner and the exotic incense he burned. Winter made sense. Winter was Wufei. He contrasted sharply to the white sheets and dusting of snow we got that season. His body was completely tanned all over, virtually hairless, and I discovered how much I loved the feel of long silky hair sweeping my belly.

But our love didn't have a chance at longevity.

The next year, our bottles won the kingdom's highest award for beauty. They were his bottles, and his honor, but he demanded I be acknowledged. That it was the Just thing to do. And it brought us to the notice of Zechs Merquise, head of White Fang Winery, Barton Winery's chief competitor.

Mr. Barton didn't need two esteemed bottle painters. He could not, Merquise told him, afford two. He, Merquise, proposed to buy out one of our contracts. To my surprise, agreed to this, but only if Wufei or I accepted the deal. We weren't slaves to be bargained over.

Since I was considered the most disposable, with the least binding contract, I was interviewed first. Naturally, I turned him down. I didn't want to leave the only place I'd ever called home, or Wufei. I'd rather be an assistant and remain where I was than to become elevated to the job I'd dreamed about and leave.

Wufei left.

I was old enough to understand his reasoning; it was a great opportunity to elevate his position, but it left me heartbroken. I'd made my choice and he, his.

He explained that there was more to the exchange; he would be a bottle painter and the lover to a prince—a prince. I forgave him, but it hurt. I would advance to become a bottle painter, but also, he hadn't pointed out, the rejected lover. At the time, I felt the poorer.

I had the job I'd always wanted now, elevated from assistant to master the day Wufei left. I demonstrated respectful gratefulness, but couldn't explain to Mr. Barton why I wasn't outwardly a great deal happier.

I took a holiday. I stayed in my room for the spring, coming out only to eat every so often.

When I had the thought to return to painting, I couldn't look at a bottle. I walked in the sun and soaked up the outdoors for inspiration. I thought about Trowa and Wufei and wondered how much pain a person could take-- a heart could take, and decided it wasn't much more for me. I wouldn't look for love. I'd paint my heart out.

So, I started painting. That was my black rose period.

By the end of spring, I'd run out of black and then red and then blue paint. Yellow was sunny and bright and so I dabbled in that. Soon, I had new colors and more paint, and I was entranced with water. Sun sparkling off water.

Summer also turned into my sparkle period.

With the regress of summer, came the time to prepare for the contest. I ordered bottles. The painting and wine competition would be sometime in winter and it was time to begin my first solo limited edition. My dream come true; and I never felt so discontented with how my life had turned out.

Oh, I loved my studio that smelled faintly of musty wine barrels and paint. The old wood floors held an odd fascination for me-- scrubbed and waxed, splattered with a history of the artists before me, warmed by the sunlight coming through a wall of windows running waist-to-ceiling high, and a moving shadow…?

"Um, hey? Ah, where do ya want me to put these?"

It was my bottle order. Stacks of boxes on a cart and a young man staring at me expectantly.

"Okay, you got me," he went on to say before I could answer. "I'm new here and don't know the high road from the highway, so don't yell at me. Just give me the directions to the, ah, bottle painter studio."

"I'm the bottle painter and this is my studio. You can unload the boxes onto the shelves."

"I found it on the first try? Gimme a high five!"

I would have, had I known what he wanted, or at least the denomination. "I haven't any money on me. Don't you get paid here?"

His blank expression and mine crossed in the air, comingled, and cancelled one another out.

"Um, I'll just put the boxes on the shelves," he said with a weary shake of his head.

"The bottles go there. Take them out of the boxes, line them up on the shelves two deep, and take away the empty boxes."

He nodded and proceeded to carry out my command. "Gotcha. So, you paint these? They look green already."

"I decorate them."

"What's the point in painting bottles? You're only going to drink out of them and throw them away."

"You're an ignorant idiot. You've never heard of the limited edition bottle competition?"

This he found hilarious, although, I failed to see why. He had a bottle in each hand and danced about in circle cackling.

"It's neck in neck. No, Green Bottle inches into the lead. Oooh, Other Green Bottle rams Green Bottle, sending its cork down its throat. I guess that answers the age old question as to the inferiority of synthetic over premium cork material, but argues the point for screw caps."

"It's not that kind of competition."

"Oh?"

"It's both an art and wine contest. The winners are judged on the basis of the quality and beauty of both the bottle and its contents."

"No shit? You're serious? You ARE, aren't you?"

"Very. It's my job. It was my sole aim in life, to become this winery's bottle painter. I shared an award for my work last year."

"Oh, yeah? You gonna win this year, too?"

"Probably not."

"Well, not with that attitude, you're not."

"Idiot! You have no right to say that to me! You don't know anything!" I just exploded. All that anger at the world I'd pent up just came ripping out of my mouth.

He staggered back a couple steps, but didn't yell back. "Yeah, you're right. I don't. Like I said, I'm new here. I should keep my stupid comments to myself. Sorry, man." He set the two racing bottles on the shelf and leaned down for more. "I'll just finish up here like you asked."

And as quickly as the anger hit, it faded, and I was left with that hollow feeling I'd had before—that, and a handsome young man unpacking my order of wine bottles.

"It that real?"

He scowled at me. "Is what real? My ass? 'Cause, if you mean my ass the answer is 'yes'. It is mine, all mine. If, however, you mean--?"

"Shut up, will you!" At the mention of 'ass' my eyes' line-of-sight slid south to the called upon anatomical location, but because he turned, what he caught me staring at was his crotch. His jeans set off all his assets perfectly.

"I meant _this_," I said, cradling his braid in my hand, and was only made aware of that when he tugged at it. I had no idea how I had moved that fast.

"Let go," he demanded. The hair came free and he whipped the rope over his shoulders. "And yes it is real. Real hair. Real _long_ hair I keep hygienically out of the way in a braid, not that it's any business of yours. Geez, I'll never get this done at this rate and I gotta ton of corks—and a ton of corks is a hell of a lotta corks I can tell ya—a ton to sort 'cause they come unsorted and the long ones fit the tall thin bottles and the shorter ones are for the dessert wines and the in-between ones—"

"I KNOW."

"Oh, yeah, sure ya do. Sorry 'bout that."

"You talk a lot."

"Sometimes, when I got someone to talk to, and lately I haven't 'cause I don't know nobody here, except the old geezer, Howard, who's in charge of the trucking. You know him? Flowered shirts? He got me this job, in fact."

I stopped him with a question. "Where did you come from?"

"The city. Yeah, what's a city boy like me doing out here in the country, you ask? Well, it's a long story, but for you I'll cut it short."

"Your hair—or your story?" I smiled so he'd know I was joking. Sadly, I failed to convey that message clearly, because he still grabbed the braided rope and wrapped in around his hand.

"Story. Not cutting this off. Not by choice, anyway. Maybe to save my life."

"You were going to tell me your story?"

"Oh, yeah. That. I have no family, the streets had gotten to be really dangerous, and I needed a job. I also needed a place to sleep and Howard's truck was perfect."

"Not perfect or you wouldn't be here," I pointed out.

"Perfect for _a day_ and then he caught me and we got to talking and he said I could pay for my sleeping place by unloading the truck and he brought me here and got me a job at the loading dock. "

"And you sleep in his truck?" This thought interested me and alarmed me, but mostly sparked my interest. That could be a fun adventure. Who knew where you'd be when you awoke in the morning? I hadn't had a lot of fun or adventures in my life.

"I was happy to, but the folks here put me up with the other workers."

"Oh, that's too bad."

"No," he assured me, which made me even more curious about his previous living conditions. "I get my own bed and food and pay! It's all dormitory style, but the other guys aren't perverts or anything so I feel safe, not that I'm not into guys, but I like to pick and choose, if you know what I mean."

He was gay, is what it meant to me. I nodded.

"--This one guy snores like a train and another jerks off to the rhythm, but I'm on the far side of the room, top bunk."

It sounded terrible to me, but I'd always had a private room. I think I'd scared the other boys when I was younger. I may have pulled a gun on them. I remember it being taken away from me, but not how I'd gotten it in the first place.

Trowa had let me borrow his when we'd go shooting rats in the vineyard. "You're a real sharpshooter. The best," he'd told me, and I still treasured his complement.

"--So, it's all good, but only if I get my work done and I'm taking way too much time here."

"Go then. Leave that last box."

"Really? That would be cool. I could—"

"Go! I can un-box the rest."

"You da boss! I'd come by for the empty box later." He paused at the door and quipped over his shoulder, "Maybe when we get to know each other better I'll tell you more."

And suddenly my studio seemed larger and quieter than ever before. I didn't even know his name.

He was just my size and weight and, I guessed, age. He had no family, just like me. He was from the city. And had lived in a truck.

What did he look like? I studied things, examining things to paint and yet what could I recall of his face? Brown hair, bangs shading his eyes so I couldn't see the color but they weren't brown. Something gold glinted around his neck. A chain? _Big_ mouth. With nice lips.

Erase that.

Smart mouthed and quick but not educated like Wufei. Wary but not introverted like Trowa. The guy with the braid was unlike any other man I'd met. I shouldn't be interested; he was just a dock jockey and probably wouldn't last out the month, but I dreamed about him that night anyway.

I woke up before dawn panting after having been nearly strangled by my sheet, which had been yards of hair in my dream. I had a novel idea for my bottle painting and ran to the studio to get the image onto glass while it was fresh in my mind.

I had been thinking of the art nouveau period, a head turned away with long hair, tendrils hanging free, some coiling and taking on a life of their own, intertwining with flowers. I could vary the flower colors and keep it simple to produce different versions. Was the head a man's or a woman's? I made it impossible to tell, but most people would think it was a woman.

Only I would know it was not.

After two trial bottles, I had fixed the features and knew exactly how it would have to be composed to balance exactly right. The fifth was nearly like the fourth, only one flower had been added and another angled just a bit lower. The sixth was a duplicate of the fifth and the seventh and eighth color changes only. I felt confident I had a winning design.

A beauty executed beautifully.

Maybe Mr. Barton would audaciously bottle a Beaujolais Nouveau to play up the art? Probably not. No one ever won with a short lived wine. A bold red. _Gypsy_. I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. Yes, Gypsy would be an appropriate labeling. I decided to suggest that. Wouldn't do any harm to try.

I arranged the painted bottles on the window sill to dry, filling the space, casting the room in a green glow. Later, they would get a protective finish and be sent on to have their labels attached and eventually be filled and corked.

But before I got too far along in my daydream, I planned take the best example to Mr. Barton and pitch my idea.

After the paint dried.

In the meantime, I absolutely had to find out who that young man had been. His name. At once. Before he found a lover and took off like the others.

Erase that.

I located the dormitories, but they were empty, naturally, since everyone was at work. Next, I tried the loading area. The trucks were gone, so I suspected he, whoever he was, would be out making his deliveries. Where would that be? The Winery. There were clarifiers, chemicals, tools, any number of things they'd use. The bottling plant? He had been busy with corks. A hasty perimeter search proved devoid of braided workers. The vineyard sheds stored herbicides and pesticides and fertilizer and… he could be just about any place within a five mile radius of where I was standing.

That wasn't so bad. I could cover that area in no time at all, especially if I started with the most likely, and closest, locations first and circled out from there.

I nearly passed him. He was eating dinner. I should have thought of that except that I hadn't eaten regularly for some time. Suddenly, I was starving.

Meals were produced in a central location and served cafeteria-style, except in the grand manor where the Barton family lived. I'd dined there on occasion with Trowa and once with Wufei after our win.

I preferred the comfortable informality of the refectory. More of the polished oak gleamed from the floors, walls and tables. If it hadn't been for the high ceilings and exposed rafters, it would have felt like the inside of a wine barrel.

"Hey! Meatloaf with mashed potatoes and gravy night. See if they've set out more cobbler. It was scraping bottom when I went through."

Taking orders from a delivery boy was not appropriate for the bottle painter, but no one seemed to pay us any attention, so I ignored him and took up a tray. I chose fried chicken and green beans, maybe just to deny him the satisfaction of having any power over my choices then took the seat across from him at the table.

"Chicken? It's pretty good, but I had it last night. No dessert yet?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't eat dessert." Why was I so mad at him? Oh, yes. He didn't treat me like the important person I was. No one had bothered to tell him, probably. "By the way, you can't go and order me around. It's not done. I'm the—"

"Bottle dude. Yeah, you told me. Sorry. I thought maybe we were buds."

Buds, as in buddies. That sounded nice. Had I ever had a buddy? Trowa had called me his friend and we shared good times, but we were socially mismatched. Not buddies. And in no way were Wufei and I 'buds'. I'd had sex partners, but not 'buds'.

It had been Trowa and Wufei who had made the first move, I recalled. I shouldn't expect this delivery boy to do that. It was all up to me, if I wanted to move forward. "We can be friends." I hoped.

"You think, mister?" He loaded up a fork with meat and potatoes and waved it at me. "You've made it perfectly clear where we stand. I'm trash and you reign supreme. My friends treat me as an equal." His fork rang as it hit the plate. "On second thought—" He was on his feet. "See you 'round."

"But you haven't finished eating!"

"Lost my appetite."

"Please, sit down. And later… I-I want to show you the new design for my bottles."

His eyes narrowed under a luxuriant fringe of dark lashes, but not before I noticed the glint of color-- blue with the hint of purple like the sky just before a sunset. "That's the lousiest pickup line I've ever heard."

"It's not a line—"

"I _know!_ Geez, you probably just painted some bottles and mean to show them off, right?"

"That's what I said."

"You're about as funny as a hole in a lifeboat, you know that?"

He insulted me. I wanted him to apologize. Say he was sorry and then sit back and eat and then follow me to my room. I had had no experience to deal with a man like him.

He crammed more food in his mouth and folded the rest of the meat in his dinner roll, but didn't sit. I guess he chewed. He washed it down with the last of his grape juice. "Gotta go. Two hours more work then I'm off for the night."

With a wink he was dashing for the door.

"Wait!" I called after his receding back. But he was out of hearing and I was left feeling frustrated. I hadn't even learned his name. I'd failed to do even that much.

* * *

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

**The Bottle Painter**

**A Dream Come True**

Summary: Heero Yuy's life as a winery artist takes an abrupt turn when he meets a lowly delivery boy.

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Gundam Wing or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story.

A/N: My deepest thanks go to the kindness of WaterLily for painstaking editing and Snowdragon for encouraging me.

Warnings: AU, male/male pairings, language

**

* * *

Chapter 2 **

The delivery boy had left me feeling frustrated. Surely my social skills hadn't deteriorated so far that I couldn't even make a friend at work? He'd taken off and I hadn't even learned his name. I'd failed to do even that much.

There was work sitting, waiting for me.

The paint was dry, so I could call on Mr. Barton to review the design. Might as well face _that_ possible failure as well.

As it turned out, my boss loved the art and called the printer to find an appropriate typeface for his new GYPSY label. "Last year's Zinfandel is ready for bottling and it's particularly spicy with a deep berry. It will fit the gypsy theme exactly. Thank you, Heero, for the art."

I returned the test bottles to the studio, and warmth spread through my chest, which I recognized as pride. I had my work cut out for me. Before my light failed me, I had to make progress on the work. I couldn't mix colors—that was for the morning with certain illumination—but I could do the line art for the head and hair. Silver or gold highlights would be saved to the end. Just do the basics, I reminded myself, and settled into a rhythm.

I must have been terribly focused, because I didn't hear anyone knock, or come in.

"Those are cool. Oh, sorry, 'bout that. Didn't mean to scare you." It was _him_, whoever he was.

I rested the ruined bottle on the table and picked up a rag and mineral spirits. "But you did anyway. Here, make yourself useful and clean off where I slipped."

"Sure. I like to be useful."

We worked in silence a few minutes; or, he did and I studied him doing it. His face was far too pretty to be a man's. Maybe he was younger than I'd thought initially.

"How old are you?" I asked. I felt rusty at conversation, remembering too late that it would have been more polite—"proper," as Wufei would have snapped—for me to have asked why he'd stopped by first.

"You are weird, you know that? You don't care what my name is, but you want to know if I'm of legal consenting age? I musta been nuts to come back here expecting some real, oh. I don't know, warmth? Caring? Maybe if I was cold and green—"

"A frog?" I was mystified and completely off base again.

"A Goddamned wine bottle! Jesus, you are denser than rock."

Again, he was shooting in the direction of the door. He had the table to get around first giving me time to block his path.

"I'm sorry." There I said it this time, because I was. I didn't want to chase him away.

He growled at me. The vineyard kept terriers to deter rats from the vines. They had bright eyes and sharp teeth and growled. I thought he was adorable like a puppy, and very nearly kept that thought to myself.

"You're cute, like a feisty little terrier."

"What did you say?" he asked in a very un-cute tone of voice.

"I-I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm about around you. I'm just coming off a bad experience and I'm bad at this—"

"You're right about that."

"Can we start over?"

"Mebbe."

"Okay, then. Hello."

"Yeah, hi."

He shook my hand. Now we both had painted palms.

"My name is Heero Yuy and this is my art studio where I paint the limited edition bottles. What's your name?"

"Duo Maxwell. Nice place here. Like the paintings on the ones on the window sill. Swirly."

"Thank you." The conversation was going smoothly this time. I felt good about this meeting. "It's you."

"Say what?"

"Well, how I imagined you would look with your hair down and turned away. You inspired me."

"Oh yeah?" He looked nervous and uncomfortable. His eyes were darting toward the door again.

What had I said wrong this time?

"I had this dream," which I had the good sense not to tell him about, "and I woke up with this vision of loose hair and flowers."

I thought I heard him mutter, "I gotta bad feeling—"

"Oh, it was a nice composition!" I rushed to assure him I didn't have tasteless dreams.

"Listen, ah, Heero. You invited me to look, I've looked, now I gotta few things lined up to do, people expecting me for the, ah, card game and you know they gotta have the right number of players so I'd better go-- now."

I stopped him the best way I knew. I grabbed him and kissed him.

He broke away and hauled off and punched me in the face. Then he ran out the door.

I chased after him and, after a brief scuffle, trapped him in a side corridor.

"Lemme go! I didn't do nothing you didn't deserve."

He was quick, slippery and, I suspected, cunning and not above winning with dirty tricks, but I was stronger.

"Shut up for a second. Would you stop running away and give me a chance?"

"A chance to what? Get raped? I'd rather get myself fired, thank you very much. I'm the really, really low man on the totem pole here, painter dude. No one's gonna believe my word against yours, so before I add to that shiner, just getcher hands off. I won't tell if you won't."

"_Rape?_ What do you mean? That's a terrible thing… are you accusing me of _that_?! I wasn't going to do anything to you."

"No? You kissed me. That was something."

"A _small _something. I wanted you to stay. I thought you'd like it. I've been told I'm good at it."

He calmed enough that I let up on my grip, which seemed to give him courage to square his shoulders. My cheek throbbed and I could feel the skin pulled tight over a rising bump.

"You've got a high assessment of yourself in that department then. You were okay. Just passable."

"Again with the insults!"

"I call it like I see it. The hairy bottles were pretty. I said so. The kiss was so-so. Too hard. It was all about you bullying me and not about passion."

"You didn't give me a chance. You have to kiss back for it to work right." I touched the bump on my cheek bone. "And you hit me! I didn't hurt you at all."

He stood there arms crossing his chest staring at me. Hopefully, he was thinking over what I'd said and not plotting his next moves leading to my demise.

"Fair enough. Let's give it a try. And see if you can avoid bruising my lips on my teeth, okay?"

"You want to kiss me? I want to make certain I understand you."

"Yeah. Consider it a test of your abilities."

We were the same exact height, which was nice. Trowa had been taller and Wufei shorter. Since we were standing, we fit perfectly. His arms circled my neck allowing mine to wrap around his waist. When one hand slipped along his rounded ass, he shook his head. We weren't going there today.

The corridor was dark and cool, one that led to the wine cask storage room. It smelled faintly of vinegar, and now the sharp tang of Duo's sweat, more intoxicating than wine. His eyes remained opened and his dry lips barely brushed against mine. I was afraid to move lest I kiss him too hard. Was he especially fragile?

His tongue wasn't. It muscled past my lips, daring my teeth to block its way, and then set to exploring my gums, palate, and finally tussle with mine for dexterity. All this while rubbing his supple body along mine, stirring up trouble, because we were both terribly aroused.

I was diagramming the quickest route to my bedroom, when he broke the kiss and pulled away. He wiped his smiling mouth on his sleeve. "Better that time. You put some heat into that one. Feel it?"

"Yes." That came out so hoarsely he laughed at me.

"So, you're interested in more?"

"Yes, of course!" _Now!_

"Then you can date me first. Dinner or a picnic, your choice. Doesn't have to entail a huge outlay of money, Heero. Don't look at me that way."

_What_ way?

"I like walks," he went on. "I'm not big on country thrills, like muddy hikes or icy swims, but I can see we're rather limited for things to do out here in the sticks. I'm a quality guy and I'd like to get to know you."

"Okay. Mission accepted." Knowing the conditions, his rules, made pursuing him far easier.

"Mission? Yuy, are one screwy dude." His lips pecked my cheek, the hurting one, and he chuckled, "Kisses make it better," and then with a wave, left.

Kisses did make it better.

My mood improved after that. I had a boyfriend and his name was Duo, a short, uncomplicated name. Too bad he wasn't just as uncomplicated.

For a former self-described "street rat", he was demanding, but not fussy. He expected me to court him as if he was a precious asset to society, treat him with respect, but not spend money on him. He treated me the same way and didn't waver on how far he was willing to go—meaning he didn't put out. He limited sex to kissing and mutual fondling, fully clothed.

My courtship of him took us to the limits of the Barton property. I walked more than I ever had before. I showed him all over the winery and every acre of the vineyard when the weather permitted and after the hectic harvest. And when I wasn't furiously putting the finishing touches on my many bottles.

I had not forgotten the importance of doing an excellent job and produce award-winning products. I had the self-possession to concentrate on my work and still afford time for romance. It helped that I could think of him while I painted; painting him on bottle after bottle.

And when we were together, I loved how he listened to what I had to say and remembered important details. I'd thought I was the only one who cared for such things. I felt I'd become an important part of his life. God knows how I'd come to depend on him for my own life support.

"This the field of your dreams?" he asked me once on one of our outdoor treks.

"The what?" I hadn't followed his conversation to this point. The rise to the hilltop, covered in dry, brown grass, whispering in the dry, chill wind, had never entered into any dream of mine. "No."

"Oh, well, there aren't any flowers now, but in summer—S'okay, just thinkin' 'bout what you'd told me about your hairy bottle inspiration."

My dream of him rolling in a field of flowers, hair free. "Not here."

"Oh, well, let's crack open that picnic basket you had packed." He gave me a crooked smiled, adding, "Before we freeze our balls off out here."

I led him off the hill, out of the wind, and spread a blanket. While we munched on chicken sandwiches, I explained my dream again. "It wasn't here, or any place I've been. It was more about you than anything."

That must have pleased him, because he blushed and started digging in the basket for a napkin.

"I'd like to do something different." I wanted to do this before the upcoming wine and bottle art contest.

His sharp look stopped my lips. "Not yet, Yuy."

"I-I wasn't meaning… that." I wanted sex, but I really hadn't been about to ask for it.

"Oh. Okay. Whatcha have in mind then?"

"A dinner out. In town. A good restaurant I know. I'll take care of everything. Please say yes?"

"Yes."

His reward was a mind blowing kiss. I'd gotten good at delivering those, and he'd actually told me so. Besides the overall pleasure of making out with him, it warmed us up before it was time to head back.

At the end of the week, I had convinced Howard to drive us into the nearest town for a special dinner date. I was disappointed when Duo acted put out.

"What's wrong? You'd seemed okay before. I thought you'd appreciate going into town."

"I do but," he gave a lengthy sigh, "I kinda forgot I only have my work clothes. Nothing fancy."

_This_ troubled him? "You can wear mine. We're the same size. Come with me. Something will fit."

He put up a little fight, but gave in when I told him he'd have to explain to Howard why his plans would be messed up.

"This all yours?" It was the first time he'd agreed to see my room. He'd always come up with some excuse along the lines of "too tempting."

"It's only a room with a bed, a chair and a dresser. Oh, and a window. Bath is down the hall and shared."

"Nice, though."

"I think so. Choose slacks from these and any shirt and jacket. I'm wearing this."

"Nice."

"You'll look just as nice and not feel like you stand out." But I was afraid he'd be conspicuous under any circumstances. He was very, very good looking. And that hair.

"What time again?"

"Three hours. If you'd like, you can change in here. I promise to behave."

"I'll bet, heh, heh. Okay. I'll be back in a couple hours to dress."

And he returned, just like he promised, hair slightly damp so I knew he'd bathed in the meantime. "You gonna watch me?"

"Yes."

He rolled his eyes. "At least you're honest. Won't be much of a show."

His upper body was nicely muscled from his labors. I told him so and made him blush and curse me alternatively under his breath. He turned his back and slipped into a pair of black slacks and turned back to button the wine red shirt. "Okay?"

"Gorgeous."

That made him laugh, but I could tell he was pleased and excited. I was too. I tied his tie and in that way taught him so he could tie mine for me. We wore matching navy blazers. My shirt was blue pinstriped, but it was enough to keep us from looking like 'twinsies', as he called matching outfits.

"Would you wear your hair down?" I asked.

"Only in private. Everyone stares. It's no fun."

"I guess not; besides, I don't want other men staring at you more than they will."

He laughed and made me laugh too.

"I want to hold your hand," I told him. "You're my boyfriend and it feels good to be connected."

"You just wanna show off." He was in a jovial mood.

"That too."

We rode in the back of Howard's truck, in spite of our finery. He had a buddy in the passenger seat when we met at the appointed spot by the winery's delivery entrance. This worked out fine, because it meant Duo and I could sit close together and not be bothered by nosy questions.

The ride took us past the vineyard gates to the main road, which wound through the bucolic pastureland. Cattle dotted one hill. I looked the other way as the sun went down and I was in awe as Duo glowed in russet hues. He was chattering on about how he never saw the sun set or rise in the city "'cause of the tall buildings."

I couldn't imagine that. Even the college town I'd lived in was small. We passed the turnoff which would take us there and I pointed it out.

"Art school? Cool. I never did get past the eighth grade. But I'd like to someday!" He seemed upbeat to try anything that night.

"Mr. Barton sends all the kids to school. If he knew you were interested, I'm sure he'd find something appropriate for you, too."

"Oh, yeah? Well, we'll see how things go. Maybe in fall… I dunno."

When our road joined with another, bigger road streaming with vehicles, drowning out our voices, we put our conversation on hold. We just watched as Howard swept us to town in a flood of festive night-on-the-town traffic.

We hopped off the truck a few blocks from the restaurant and walked close together. I think he was as nervous as I was, because he smiled a lot and stepped along quickly. Or, maybe he was excited?

We jostled past old and young couples and knots of stray kids all going someplace special. There was a movie theater, dozens of places to eat, and clubs to hear music or dance—none of which I'd ever visited.

I'd made reservations at a terribly fancy restaurant called Terra. I'd been there once before with Trowa and his father and a cadre of others to celebrate a good harvest. I knew what to expect so I reached out and squeezed Duo's hand to let him know everything would be fine.

And it was, until I stepped in sight of the building. A new worry knotted my already nervous stomach: _what if Trowa was there, or Wufei?_ I hadn't thought of that before. _Would it be so terrible?_ Yes.

"What's wrong?" Duo asked. "I'm asking 'cause you're glued in place and it's kinda chilly by the door."

"I'd rather not eat here. Would you mind so much if we went someplace else?"

"It depends." His eyes had followed mine to the door and the window glowing amber. "Why?"

Oh, God, he'd think I was ashamed of him. I had to correct that potential misunderstanding immediately. "I didn't think it over."

* * *

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

**The Bottle Painter**

**A Dream Come True**

Summary: Heero Yuy's life as a winery artist takes an abrupt turn when he meets a lowly delivery boy.

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Gundam Wing or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story.

A/N: My deepest thanks go to the kindness of WaterLily for painstaking editing and Snowdragon for encouraging me.

Warnings: AU, male/male pairings, language

**

* * *

Chapter 3 **

Blocking the entrance to the restaurant, frozen in place, brain firmly stuck on "numb", I couldn't think of what to do. I didn't want Duo to think I was unwilling to be seen with him. I also didn't want to have to explain all my insecurities or past boyfriends, so I just said, "I didn't think it over."

"Trouble with you, 'Ro, is that you over think most stuff. I promise not to dance on the table, if that's what's worrying you."

"No, no! It's not you at all. It's just," _I'm a wimp_, "there might be some people I don't want to see in there."

"Which people?"

"Trowa Barton or Chang Wufei."

"Barton, huh? Familiar name. So? Should I know them? I'm not impressed." _Much._

I thought Duo looked a bit paler.

"I didn't want to get into this. Not so soon."

"Start with Barton. He's got a rather prominent last name--?"

"The son of our winery owner," I said.

Duo cleverly connected the dots and drew the conclusion. "Oh, so you two grew up together?"

"Yes." How was I to put it? "Close. Closer as we got to be older."

"I get it. He was your first lover."

"Yes." Thank God he was quick. I couldn't bring myself to say it, and yet we weren't done.

"And the Chinese dude?"

"I took Wufei's place as the winery's top bottle painter when he…became affianced to Zechs Merquise—and left."

"The _prince_? Must have been hot stuff. So, Wufei, he was a friend of yours?"

"Yes, him, too."

"He was one of your conquests, _too_?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"As in it was the other way around, huh?"

"Duo, I don't want you to feel judged or uncomfortable here. And I'm sorry--that wasn't put well. I don't know how I feel."

"Are you going in?" Strangers wanted past us.

What was I to do? I hadn't the chance to explain anything properly to Duo.

I guess I didn't need to.

"Whaddya think?" he asked me. "Stay or leave. Your call. I'm good any way."

I felt like a great champion, supported by my squire, well, more than that, but the warmth swelling in my chest was real and all because of Duo. The situation took on a different feeling. I wanted to stay. I leaned into his ear and whispered, "I'd like to show you off. Would that be okay?"

I finally said something right. He just glowed. "Sure."

I grabbed the door handle and gestured for Duo and the waiting couple to enter. The head waiter floated our way to seat us. "Excuse me, sirs. Is that you, Mr. Yuy? I have your table ready." The secluded window seat I had reserved.

"Yes, thank you."

"Very good, sir. If you'd follow me."

My eyes swept the room for unwelcome faces.

"Coast clear?" Duo whispered.

I nodded.

"Good. The table tea lights are enough old flames for me." Duo winked, gorgeous, and real, nothing artificial.

I let out a nervous chuckle, and let him draw my icy hand into his warm one. He paired that with an adoring smile, making no attempt to hide our relationship. My pounding heart nearly burst through my ribcage. I could have sung for the utter and overwhelming bliss I felt.

"Me, too," I agreed smoothly, and let Duo guide me to our table.

The candle light flickered as menus passed into our hands and water glasses were filled.

"Everything okay?" he asked me.

"You are spectacular. Thank you for getting us past that potentially awkward situation."

"Not a problem, though, you coulda warned me before we came. I might have worn my hair down."

"I rarely have been to town and this is one of the only places I've ever been. It wasn't until we got here that it occurred to me who we might run into." I was imagining him with his hair down; I would continue to throughout our meal. "Your hair loose—is it so much trouble?"

"You have no idea. Gets into food, gets sat on, caught in buttons, and folks stare."

_And it attacks people at night and tries to strangle them_-- no, that had been in my dream and I kept the thought securely lodged in my head.

He shook his head, loosening his braid from where he'd tucked it between his back and his chair. The braid uncoiled, snaked out, and swung with a 'thuck' against the table leg. I could count the eyes on him just as he was.

"It's okay, 'Ro. Relax. It's different seeing you so completely insecure, though."

"I always feel unsure of myself around you. You have turned my world upside down."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Now, help me out with this incomprehensible menu."

I did the ordering, including wine. I'd never done that and I felt like the man. Not that Duo wasn't one, too, but I liked feeling some control for a change. And that helped calm my nerves. I even stopped looking over my shoulder every time I heard the voice of a new patron.

"I'm going to like buffalo?"

"Smothered in mushrooms. It's a specialty."

"You're getting lamb."

"We'll share. How about that? Then you'll know which you like best."

"Yeah, okay. Sounds good. Oh, man, they are quick delivering the wine."

He was so incredibly charming I just let him talk and delight me. Salads of fresh herbs and baby greens appeared with a basket to share of aromatic bread, sliced and oven-warmed. He ate and I picked, unable to bring myself to eat and miss a moment of his conversation and animated expressions.

"You have an intense stare," he told me. "Nice eyes, but intense. Something wrong?"

"No, go on. You were telling me about escaping the plague."

"Combination of strong constitution and luck. Believe me, there wasn't any magic involved. Lost my best friend and he was only eight or so."

"I wish there wasn't so much pain growing up."

"Yeah, I hear ya."

I learned about the world outside the confines of the winery and the nearby town. I wanted to see more of it myself and Duo repeated a promise he'd made.

"This summer we'll take a trip, just you and me, okay? You gotta have a vacation. Everybody gets one sometime and I'll bet Ole Barton will grant you a few weeks off."

"He might. I don't know why he wouldn't as long as I assure him of my return."

"That's the spirit. Whoa, here comes the main course. Did you order me the whole buffalo?"

The waiter even smiled. "If you'd like, I can wrap anything you are unable to finish so you can save it for later. You won't want to miss out on dessert."

"Dessert? I love sweet stuff."

"Try this." I loaded a fork with a bite of lamb and sampling of scalloped potatoes.

His lips slid off my fork with a hum, and, when he peeked up at me through his fringe of bangs, I knew he had intentionally teased me. My body reacted predictably so I adjusted the placement of my napkin. "Don't do that."

"You don't mean that," he said. We both knew he was right, too. "That is good. What's in the potatoes?"

"Cream and cheese."

"Creeeeam," he drawled and licked his lips.

"Duo!" I didn't shout. I pitched my voice low so only he could hear. He just grinned and carved a bit off his roast and then stabbed at green bean.

"I don't like those."

"Too bad. Beans come with the dinner. I tried yours. Open up. O-pen. It's not so hard, unlike other things."

I opened my mouth to offer a differing opinion, and he popped the fork past my teeth.

"The menu called them '_haricots verts'_. Think that's got anything to do with harlots?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes and chewed. Drenched in butter sauce, they weren't so bad. "You understood more of the menu than you let on, didn't you?"

"Not so much. My French is limited to wine labels currently, but I figured out those had to be the green beans after eliminating the rest. This is really good, 'Ro. Thanks for bringing me here."

His shining eyes met mine and all the embarrassment I'd felt over his suggestive talk got replaced with heat of another kind. I don't know how I made it through the dinner without attacking him. Honestly, I'd never been so close to losing control as I did at that table.

The waiter rolled over a cart of desserts and Duo's face lit into a brilliant smile.

"How do I choose?" he asked.

Not that I worried a moment that he couldn't or wouldn't. The way the candlelight flickered gave him an impish look. I watched entranced as the waiter named the treats and Duo's eyes followed the waiter's finger point to each one. For a second, I was sure my boyfriend would order one of each. When the man said "peanut" something, I heard Duo muttering "pea-nut budder, browner dan my mudder" to a tune I didn't recognize, causing the serious-faced waiter to smile. I adored Duo's idiosyncrasies and the way he tinted my world in sunshine.

In the end, Duo chose the plate closest to him. I picked one at random.

"You told me you didn't eat dessert," he reminded me.

"I don't. I just didn't want you to eat alone."

"Sacrificing for me? I'm touched." He mock-stabbed at his heart and rolled his eyes. He made me laugh.

I couldn't get enough of him. "Hn." I finished my glass of wine and settled deeper into my chair to watch him eat.

"What's with the dopy look on your face?" he asked carving off the tip of his cheesecake.

"I can't take my eyes off of you."

"Heh. I haven't even let the hair down yet. Wait till you see that."

"How long do I have to wait?"

"Depends." Oh, he looked coyly at his slice of cheesecake and pretended absolute interest in the luscious sweet.

I would have traded my mousse for a kiss, easily. "Depends? On what?"

I had to wait while he teased a bite past his lips and slowly withdrew the fork. I wanted to be that fork. I wanted him so badly.

"On when we get back."

I checked the time. We had an hour before Howard was due to return, with or without us. An hour would feel like eternity now.

Knowing that, I settled on enjoying the company of Duo. He licked the blueberry topping off his dessert and it was all I could do not to beg him to do that to me. Not in the restaurant.

"So, tell me about your painting. What's your inspiration?" he asked.

"You."

"Before me," he said with a laugh, clearly pleased I said it.

"There were no bottles before you where I worked alone and chose the subject matter."

"You musta painted pictures or something, right?"

"Yes. All right. _Things_."

He gave me a perturbed "don't give me a one word answer" look, so I extracted something from my head.

"Say, I'd see a bird and I'd use the colors of the bird or the curve of its wing to start. At art school, I'd be given assignments, but when I had a choice, I'd start with a thing and go from there."

Throughout this discussion, Duo listened, his eyes mostly on me, reading my face for clues about what I was feeling. I wasn't foolish enough to think his attraction for me couldn't be crushed, that our young relationship could withstand much adversity. Not yet. I knew now was the time to assure him I was not mentally unstable or nursing a broken heart.

"I like the out-of-doors for inspiration and the fresh air," I said in conclusion.

His expression took on a dreamy wistfulness I'd seen before when he thought about the future. "Wait until I show you the ocean. You'll go nuts."

He proceeded to describe the moving expanse of water against the sky and shore. The birds, the sounds and smells and little shells and smooth pebbles and colored glass we'd collect. Catching a glimpse of Duo's sweet profile reminded me of the treasure I'd found already.

"Sounds fantastic. We'll go there first, when I secure my vacation."

Duo chuckled. "I wanna go now. Summer's a long way off."

"Not so long. Really only a few weeks."

"Months!" He halfway hopped out of his seat.

"Sit down." A keyed up Duo in bed, yes, sometime, but in a fine restaurant-- no. "Eat your cake."

"Cheese cake," he hummed as he settled again, "is so good."

I was fuzzy happy to have him, and -- I wanted to get home and have Duo all to myself, if he'd have me.

I stirred my mousse cup while Duo moaned in ecstasy over his cheesecake, bite by bite. His eyes darted up. Duo looked up over my shoulder and sat back. "Here comes the waiter dude. Get the bill so we can take off."

I did, rushing the man a bit more than his usual rhythm called for, but I planned to leave him a tip to compensate. I pulled out some notes and folded them under the bill and stood to go.

"We can walk about town awhile until Howard shows up."

Outside the restaurant, I took up his hand and walked close enough our shoulders bumped. "Thank you for saying yes tonight. I can't recall having as good a time out—ever."

Duo moved to my side. "Such a sweet talker you are."

Maybe I'd sounded flirtatious, but I'd actually meant every word. I even surprised myself at the intensity of the feeling. That Duo wanted to go home with me at the end of the night was what mattered.

He cocked his head to the side, saying, "I think you might deserve me."

"I think I might," I said, feeling for an instant as if I did.

He laughed and led us along the avenue. "Which way?"

"This way is fine. There are some shops."

Window shopping turned out to be strange. Neither of us owned many things, had much space to store them, or had the appetite for accumulating "things". We admired beautiful objects and questioned the rest.

"Why would ya want fake fruit on a table? The real thing is pretty and you can eat it."

"Marble ones won't rot?" I suggested.

"I guess. So explain the fake books?"

"Ah, that's more difficult," I admitted. I examined what I could see closely and thought about books without pages. "To make you look smarter than you are while giving you a place to stash your gold?"

"They're hollow? That would actually be… naw, even that's pretty stupid. Let's look at the hats over there. I've been thinking of getting me a hat. Whaddya think of that one? Like a cool detective."

I laughed when he turned up his collar like a trench coat.

"Or the black beret… Now that would do for you. Kinda French artist?"

"Not with my hair."

"You're probably right. Maybe they have those knit caps you could pull way down and hold it flat?"

I stared at his reflection in the glass window front, overlaid with street lights like stars in his hair. And his smile. _What a fabulous painting that would make!_

"I got lettuce in my teeth?" he asked.

"Let me check." I pushed him into the shadows of the darkened doorway and clamped my mouth over his. My tongue pushed past his lips and scrubbed his mouth clean. I could feel his chest heaving and fingers digging into my back where they'd slipped beneath my jacket.

I could hear Howard's truck rattling a block away, so I let up and stepped away.

"Man," he huffed, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. "And we haven't even gotten started yet."

"Howard's here."

"Yeah, I heard'im." Duo stood at the curb and flagged the man down.

"You kids wandering the street? Having a good time?"

"Yes, thank you for the ride. We're ready to go home now."

"Yeah," Duo agreed and scrunched close.

The ride home was painless. Duo slumped against me all the way. Howard asked polite and proper questions.

"So, how did you two meet?"

"I delivered crates of empty wine bottles to his studio and inspired his newest paintings. Didn't I, 'Ro?"

"Yes."

"How romantic." Howard smiled, sighed, and shook his head, but kept his eyes on the road ahead, for which I was thankful. "Want me to drive around? Tour the town?"

"Thanks, but not tonight. Another time, maybe. We have… plans."

I stared at my hands until Duo squeezed one hard enough to make me meet his eyes.

"That's right," he said.

I brushed a loose strand of hair away from his lips. I wanted to touch him so bad. I couldn't keep my hands off him, and yet I had to a while longer.

I loved Duo more and more with every passing minute.

The van slowed near the winery and stopped by the door to the quarters. "Here you go."

"Thanks, Howard!" We harmonized.

Duo and I took the stairs to the main entrance, me in the lead. "Hey," he called out. "Hold up."

I hung back and let his hand slip into mine.

"I had a good time," he said.

"Me, too."

"That's nice to know. I'm wondering if you're okay, though."

"I'm fine. It was good. I'm just excited to… move on…with you."

"Oh, yeah? Heh, heh… I'd ask 'your place or mine?' but mine's a bit crowded," Duo said. Even at the time I thought he was a bit nervous and trying to cover it.

"This way." I gripped his hand in mine and walked fast.

"I just ate way too much. Slow down."

I did. I unlocked the door to my room, pulled him inside, and locked it again. "Mine," I declared, claiming a kiss.

He pushed me back a little ways and removed his coat and shoes. "I, ah, just take it slow, okay? I had a not-so-great experience and I'm a bit gun shy, so to speak."

"Shh, don't worry," I told him. I helped him with his tie and shirt. "I just want to see you naked-- with your hair down."

"Just? Heh, heh… no you don't. I mean, not _just_ that."

"Yes, I want more. I want it all, but tonight I promise to just look."

"Ahh, 'Ro, you are just too cute right now." Off came the slacks, socks, and lastly, his underwear.

He was so incredible. "Oh, God." My breath hitched in my throat, so what I said came out in a strangled voice. "Let me."

I unbraided his hair and combed out the strands. It was every bit as marvelous as I'd dreamed.

"I'm feeling way over-dressed." He could make me laugh whenever he wanted.

I let him help me remove clothing, which was embarrassing and exciting at the same time.

"You are hot, 'Ro. Hard as rock. Painting bottles sure keeps you in shape."

"I promised just to look, but I want to touch you so bad."

"Yeah, I can't wait to rub my hands over those abs. Touching's good."

So we migrated to my bed and lay down side by side, facing one another.

"Just like I dreamed."

"Dreamed? What you told me was really true, 'bout me being your inspiration?"

"Yes. I dreamed I was chasing you in a meadow. The grass was tall and we fell and rolled around and you got flowers in your hair."

"Which wasn't braided, just flying around?" he asked.

"Yes. I woke up with that vision." I didn't mention how in the dream I was all wrapped up in his hair, while actually being strangled by my sheets. That sounded weird, even to me.

"Huh. So, how does the real me compare?"

I could not find the words to answer him, so I buried my hands in his hair, drew his face to mine, and pressed my mouth to his. He'd understand. He was so perceptive that way.

**(o)**

Anything "Duo-esque" was automatically extraordinary, wasn't it?

Apparently, not. I didn't win the contest with my beautiful "Gypsy" bottles that year, which disappointed me.

Nor did Wufei. He and I tied for second place, and first went to an old codger from across the valley with a rather lurid nude—not at all attractive. The wine inside was fantastic, though, so maybe the award was for that. Wufei and I were not the judges; we were just the bottle painters.

Duo kept my mind off the disappointment. All winter and into spring we made love in my room on my narrow bed. It was marvelous.

At the end of spring, I told Mr. Barton that I needed a vacation to gather inspiration for the next fall's entry. He generously agreed and gifted me with a work-free month and a pocketful of money to take on the road. And Duo. As my official assistant, he had to accompany me.

"That should do it," he said after examining the contents of our backpacks. "We'll just make do and buy what we gotta. Ready?"

"Yes." Anticipation oozed from my pores, or maybe sweat. It was hot that day when we finally set out on our adventure.

"I figured to go back the way I came. That way you can meet my Sweeper friends. They'll give us a place to hang, which'll be better than the ground. You'll see. A couple nights in the wild and you'll be cryin' out for the city."

"Okay." I was a country boy and loved the out-of-doors, so I knew he meant that he would be craving the city. Probably had been for some time.

Everything was going to be new for me once we left the vineyard gates. Everything would be fine, because I had Duo with me. Everything.

And we found a meadow, studded with flowers like a star field.

"Here, this is it."

He wasn't convinced. "It? You mean this is as far as we go? Hell, 'Ro, we just got started. I betcha I can still see the vineyard property line if I squint hard enough!"

"No, idiot. This is where we stop for lunch."

"Oh? Didn't we just eat? Well, that's okay. Sure. Over by that tree's some shade."

"We'd just met and I dreamed I was chasing you in a meadow. The grass was tall and we fell and rolled around and you got flowers in your hair."

"Oh, yeah, I remember you telling me about that. I inspired your hairy bottles."

I must have looked particularly scary, because he backed away.

"Oh, no! You are not getting me to let down my hair and tangle it in the weeds. No, sirree! Noooo—"

He could run and hide. He was fast and agile. But I was persistent and determined. One flying leap and I'd tackled him to the ground. A flick of the wrist and the braid came free. I contained his kicking and screaming with a full-body attack, legs on legs, chest to chest, and a spectacular kiss. I really laid it on him. My tongue probed and had sex with his mouth. My hands gripped his wrists until he settled down, wrapped his tongue around mine, and moaned deliciously.

I sat back, pinning his hips to the earth, and gazed into his eyes. I had to pick a few flowers and place them to get the perfect effect, but it was there. I had it at last; my dream come true. And our holiday had just begun.

* * *

The End.


End file.
